Il Mio Bambino
by BeautifulXinXBlood
Summary: CH 6: Evandrus chuckled, "Felicja woke you up again? How long have you been up today?" Toris sighed hugely and practically slumped over the counter. "Too long. Ever try making kielbasa at 2 AM?" Genderbend, adoptions, and surrogate moms abound NO mpre
1. Missed Me

This humble maggot does NOT own the brain-child of Hidekaz Himaruya-san. She is not that brilliant. Nor does she own Missed Me, by the Dresden Dolls and the beautiful, radiant creature that is Amanda Palmer. She wouldn't know what to do with it if she did.

**Hey, Mister...**

She looked at the time on her wristwatch, and blurted a frustrated curse. "Ah, fuck! I'm gonna be late! Oh, man, babbo's (1) gonna be so pissed." She ran along the sidewalk of the relatively busy street, and turned onto a quieter one, following the usual way home. She had been running at top-speed for a while now, so she stopped to catch her breath and check her watch again, cursing her inability to keep track of time like her uncle was able to do.

At this point, because she was so nervous and worried, she also forgot the main thing her parents – her papà _especially_ – had told her since she'd been allowed to go out on her own. _'Always be aware of your surroundings.'_ If she hadn't forgotten, she would have noticed the man approaching slowly behind her, wielding a small knife. She was just about to swing the bag she was carrying back onto her shoulder, when he grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back, and held the knife near her neck. Her eyes widened in fear for a split second and then she relaxed, resorting to biting the inside of her lower lip.

Steeling herself for what she had to do – thank GOD her father knew an amazing amount of self-defense, and taught her said self-defense – she took a deep breath and collected all her strength. In several swift, effective movements, she had elbowed him in the solar plexus, crushed his foot with the heavy and sharp heel of her boot, punched him in the nose, and delivered another sharp elbow to the man's groin, leaving him sprawled on the ground.

Again, if she had been aware of her surroundings, she would have noticed that tall, dark, and in pain had a buddy. And this buddy was now smart to her attack. Rushing at her, he grabbed both her wrists in a single rather large hand, immobilized her legs, and had her up against the wall in one quick move. He moved his other pan-sized meat hook up, motioning to grab her neck, when suddenly he was paused by a creepily innocent-sounding voice.

_If you kiss me, Mister, I might tell my sister_

_And my sister, Mister, she might tell my mother_

_And my mother, Mister, she will tell my father_

_And my father, Mister, He won't be too happy…_

"I wouldn't do that if I were you~" Her singsong voice conflicted with the menacing look in her eyes. The combination rivaled that of a certain Russian's threatening gaze, and sent momentary shivers up the spine of the attacker. She continued talking, with smug confidence, just to stall for time. '_Any minute now…_' "You see, things won't go so well for you if you do what I think you're about to do." The smirk on her lightly tanned, cherubic face grew. If there was a better poker face out there, it'd be hard to find. The man whose vice-like grip kept her captive moved his free hand to his side, and revealed a holster to a Magnum. He shifted his right leg in the process of removing the gun – the leg that was currently keeping hers restrained – so she wrestled her lower half free. She dealt a swift kick to his gut, which deterred him momentarily, but served more to anger him than help her escape. He had her pinned up against the wall again before she could take three steps in the direction she was intending.

His breath smelled of booze as he whispered into her ear, "Now, we can do this the easy way, or" he shoved the cool metal of the barrel against her forehead "the hard way. Which do you prefer," his sinister grin revealed several missing teeth, "_princess_?" She tried to bring her legs up to kick him in the chest, but he caught on and crushed her legs with his weight. "Well?"

She heard approaching footsteps, and in a final act of courage, she spat in his face. "Go fuck yourself, bastard. I'm not a fucking whore." He cocked the gun and pressed it more firmly to the side of her head, but before he could do anything, the familiar feeling of cold metal pressed against his neck.

A voice spoke icily, in heavily accented English. "Drop her, you son of a bitch, before I blast your fucking head off." The man dropped the gun and the young woman, and turned to see the man who'd made him lose his fix. The man with the heavy accent, most likely Italian, stood at around 176 cm, with dark brown hair and caramel-colored eyes that gleamed dangerously. A menacing snarl was the last thing the would-be rapist had seen before pain went searing through his skull, and momentarily registered that he had been pistol-whipped before passing out.

_So I wouldn't miss me_

_If you get me, Mister, see?_

"Celestina Maria Fernandez Vargas, what the hell were you thinking?" He slammed the door behind them, and Celestina winced, well aware that she was in an insane amount of trouble for one fifteen-year-old girl to get into in one day. She didn't think it was possible for him to actually get this angry… and he was aggravated more often than not.

"I'm sorry, Papà, I –" She bit her lip. She knew that no matter what she said, she was still in deep shit. He began his tirade, pacing around the room, worry pervading the cross tone he had taken.

"Do you realize what could have happened? Do you? You could very well have been raped! Worse, you could have been killed!" Celestina had started to tremble, the shock of the whole situation had settled in and compounded with the guilt, fear, and strain that she had felt during the ordeal, and it all came crashing down on her like one big wave. She gripped the fabric of her pants at her thighs, and clenched her fists tight, forcing the tears back with a stubbornness that would make even her father seem flexible. She glanced sideways through her dark fringe as he sat on the couch next to her, and she let out a shaky breath, one that threatened to break the floodgates she had kept in check. He spoke in a lower tone now, as the adrenaline he'd been running on left. "I don't know how many times I can possibly tell you, you have _got_ to be more careful."

Celestina's eyes remained fixed on her hands, the angle of her head causing dark, wavy locks to curtain her face and shield her expression. She sniffled a little, but willed herself to not start crying. "I-I'm sorry for worrying you, _father_," she swallowed, almost daring the lump in her throat to impede her speech. "I can assure you I'll safeguard myself from unexpected attacks next time, _sir_." The venom in her words did not conceal the misery that was threatening to overcome her. She rose from the couch and stomped off into her room, slamming the door with so much force, it was likely to have come off its hinges. It was then and only then, in the safety and comfort of her room, that she let the hot tears blinding her vision escape, coupled with heart-wrenching sobs. Fatigue overtook her as the sobs shook her body, and she drifted off to sleep, her face still burrowed in the tear-soaked pillow.

The hot-blooded Italian man slumped onto the plush worn couch, elbows resting on his knees, tanned face buried in trembling hands. Adopting Celestina was one of the best decisions they had ever made, to be sure, but he severely doubted his ability to care for the treasure he was not worthy enough to call his daughter. His nerves got the best of him, and all the worry that had projected itself as anger settled itself in his throat. A few deep breaths wrested themselves from his lungs in a pitiful attempt to calm down the fiery tempered brunette. Sniffling, Lovino wiped away the renegade tear that escaped his honey colored orbs and trudged into the kitchen to make dinner for the three of them.

A soft, golden sliver of light ran in a small streak from the soft, crimson carpet to the plush, warm bed and painted a portion of Celestina's face in lights and shadows. The light sliver grew and grew until gradually, the room was filled with light from the doorway. A man walked in ever so carefully, so as not to wake the sleeping beauty. He knelt down next to her, a tanned hand raised slightly to stroke her dark wavy hair. As soon as she felt a hand on her head, she opened one bleary, caramel-colored eye. "Hi, Papa," she whispered sleepily.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" There was concern in his hazel eyes, but she was too tired for it to register.

"Tired," a yawn escaped her lips, almost as if her body was trying to emphasize it. "I was asleep just now…"

"I know, querida." A comforting smile snuck itself onto the Spanish man's tanned face. "I also know that you didn't eat your dinner. It's on the table, if you want it now." Her stomach answered eagerly in a loud grumble before her mind had the opportunity to process a protest, and a rich, smooth chuckle escaped from his lips. "Lovi made your favorite, you know," a mischievous gleam sparked in the man's emerald eyes. In a whirlwind of sudden energy, Celestina had thrown off the thick warm covers of her bed, jumped off the plush surface, thrown open the door, and bounded down the stairs before he could say "paella." Adopted or not, there were several things that Celestina and his hot-blooded lover had in common, one of those things was the simple fact that the easiest way to her heart was through her stomach. A small smile graced his face, and he slowly shook his head.

Even with all the rough patches they had to work through together, all three of them, life, Antonio decided, could never be better.

(1) Babbo = daddy, or so I've heard. Correct me if I'm wrong, please. I'm just an ignorant American (Oh my. That's redundant).


	2. They Grow Up So Fast

**Cultural inconsistencies, folks, gotta love 'em. This is the brainchild of a tired mind that was too lazy to research such important details such as those.  
Recommended song for this, of course, would be First Date by blink-182. Also something I don't own. Huh, fancy that.**

**Hetalia is not mine. If it was, there'd be blatant shipping. and Cold War strips.**

First Date

A young man stood in front of a mirror, making serious efforts to tame his unruly ebony hair. He pulled a brush through the mass of brown locks for the hundredth time, attempting to best the single curl that stuck straight on the crown of his head… _boing_… to no avail. Brows furrowed over green eyes. The stubborn determination receded, giving way to disappointed resignation. With a sigh, he placed the battle-weary brush down on the porcelain counter. This was one battle that was, unfortunately, lost before it had even begun. A series of rapid knocks on the door dispelled his momentary depression. "Yeah?" The deep, rich baritone of his voice pervaded the air of the once silent room.

"Nick, you've been in there for _hours_ now. What the heck are you doing in there? Other people need to do stuff too, you know." He rolled his eyes. He could practically see the pout forming on the girl's face as she folded her arms across her chest.

He brushed off his clothes, smoothing them out. "I'll be out in a bit, alright Koko? Give me a break, jeez!" Taking one last look at himself, he sighed and exited the room, deciding that there was not much else he could do. Unfortunately, he forgot that he would have to face the wrath of his twin sister, who had been waiting for "hours" to fix herself up for a party or wherever it was she was going.

"By all that's holy, Nick, what were you…" Kokoro's light brown eyes scanned him over, and she smirked before pulling her best melodramatic act, starting with a gasp. "Oh! Brother dear, your first date! I'm so proud of you, you're finally growing up!" She pulled him into a hug, knowing the commotion would alert their mother to venture up the stairs.

"Hey! Let go of me! Koko I swear-" He writhed, attempting to loosen her vice-grip to no avail. Why did anyone think it was a good idea for her to take karate, again?

"Oh, how I've waited to see this day! My baby brother is going on his first date!" One of her dainty, well-manicured hands held onto his wrist, while she touched the back of the other one to her forehead.

"God, Koko, do you have to be so dramatic? It's only-" Honestly, she would be the death of him.

"It's only what?" Nick gritted his teeth, silently cursing his sister. Honestly, all this because he spent half an hour in the bathroom? Nick decided that this was not his sister, but some demon that she was swapped out with at birth.

"Oh, Mommy dear, isn't it wonderful? Nicky-poo is going on his first date!" Yep, she was definitely the spawn of Satan. No other explanation.

The small Japanese woman shook her head and sighed. "Kokoro, let go of your brother." Yes. Score one for mom! Hazel eyes brightened as his sister loosened her grip on him. She may have been shorter, but damn. "I have to talk to him." The realization hit him after he removed his wrist from Koko's grasp.

'Oh. Crap. Not the talk, mom. Not the talk.' Of course, his dad, laid back and open as he was, already gave him the talk, man to man, when he was 12, so it wasn't the actual talk that he was worried about. It was more the fact that his _mother_ was giving him the talk. He groaned. "Mom, is this _really_ necessary?" She gave him a stern look that silenced all complaints.

She opened the door to his room and sat on his bed, motioning for him to do the same. Hesitantly, he sat down, embarrassed in anticipation of what the blunt, serious woman had to say. She wasted no time, as true to her nature. "Son, the potato that you poke," he lowered his gaze, knowing where this was going, "you have to eat it all. And you have to stomach it, no matter how much you don't want to." He blushed, knowing full well what she meant. "So," she interjected after a brief silence, patting his knee as she rose from the bed. "Curfew is at 11 PM, call us when you get there, and before you leave. No drinking, no smoking, and be safe, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am." He stood up and grabbed the keys to his car off his desk, littered with papers and open books.

The small, slight woman pulled her son into a warm, loving embrace, and smiled. "Have fun, Nick."

"Can do, mom."

* * *

"Baba, come _on_. I'll just be hanging out with some friends. It's nothing major like a party or anything. And it's FRIDAY! Can't I have a bit of time to just chill?" The older man was not convinced, nor would he budge in his decision. He ran his household based on certain principles, and those principles would not be broken.

"Hazan, I said no." Behind his mask, his gaze was stern. She could tell by the slight clenching of his jaw, the almost untraceable twitch of his lips. There was no arguing with the man.

She might as well just call it off. Or she could sneak out… 'no. Bad idea, Hazan. Bad idea. You'll never live to see another day if you tried that.' "Fine, but you didn't say anything to Ahmed or Amal when they went out with their friends." She clapped her hands over her mouth as soon as the words flew out. Normally, she just accepted that he could do things she couldn't, passing it off as an age difference thing. "I'm sorry, Baba… I'll just… I'll… I'll just go to my room now."

In the meantime, the wheels in Sadiq's head began turning. He, the oddball of his family, the rebel, the black sheep, remembered when he would defend his sisters, argued against double standards, told himself and made himself swear that he would NEVER enforce any double standards… and here he was imposing one. Just one glance at Ghada's condescending stare affirmed the thought that just spun through his head. '_Hypocrite._' "You should let her go. You know it's a date, but let her go anyway." The Egyptian woman was silent most of the time, unless she was making a point. "These are different times, love. This is a different place. Just let her try it."

Sighing, he plodded to the young woman's room. Hazan sat quietly at her dresser, brushing her long wavy brown hair, the silence of it stifling, almost strangling Sadiq. It was amazing to him how children could do that. "Hazan," She turned her head, chocolate brown eyes blankly staring at him. '_What do you want?'_After twenty years of marriage to the Egyptian woman, he learned how to read facial expressions. "You can go on your date." Chocolate brown eyes lit up, and a large smile snuck its way onto her tanned face. "You have to be home no later than 10 PM. You must call or send a text when you get there, and when you are about to leave. No kissing, no holding hands, no hugging. Got it?"

"Yes, Baba." She mentally rolled her eyes. 'What's next, a chastity belt? I get it, Baba.'

"And this boy will pick you up here?" She affirmed silently that yes, he was. "Then I am meeting him." Her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. This was NOT good. If he wasn't stupid enough to say his last name, maybe they could get away with it. But her Baba wasn't blind! He would probably notice the resemblance. She was done for… completely done for.

He stood outside the mahogany door, making a few last attempts at taming the unruly black mop of hair that would not cooperate with him. Clenching and unclenching his hands at his side, he hesitated. Should he knock? What if her dad answered the door? He'd probably just get it slammed in his face. Wiping the sweat off his palms with the back of his shirt, he clenched his hand in a fist again and knocked. 'Alright, Nikolaos, you can do this.' He looked down at the outfit he was wearing, and bemoaned the choice of clothes he had selected: a black t-shirt, white button-down short sleeve shirt over, dark-wash blue jeans and red and white worn out Converse. 'Crap. I can't do this.'

Nikolaos almost passed out when he saw who answered the door. White mask, tanned skin, strong build… _he_was Hazan's father. "Are you Hazan's" there was a twitch; he was obviously uncomfortable "date?" Sadiq probably hadn't meant to look intimidating, but Nick – being rather tall and strong himself, he was rarely intimidated – was trembling. Nick could barely manage to squeak out a "yes" before he was clapped on the shoulder and invited in rather loudly.

A knowing smirk graced Ghada's face as she spared Nikolaos a passing glance before returning to her novel.

"So, what will you do on your date?"

'Here we go. Third degree. You can handle this, Nick.' He thought about it for a second. "We're going to eat dinner and see a movie, sir." Ah yes, gotta love that traditional formality. He reminded himself to thank his mom later.

"Where?"

"Oh, uh, th-the mall, sir. It's not very far, sir."

"What time does the movie end?"

Nick cleared his throat. "9:30, sir."

"Good, good." Sadiq was interrupted by the sound of footsteps walking down the hall.

"Hi Nikolaos!" Green eyes met brown, and for a second, the atmosphere in the room seemed a little brighter. "Ready to go?" She grabbed her purse, slipping her cell phone in.

"Uh, yeah, if you are." Hazan's eyes flickered from Nick to her father, and Sadiq motioned for them to go.

"Alright then, let's go." She headed toward the door, and Nikolaos politely excused himself before opening the door for her.

After they buckled themselves up in the car, Nick revved the engine of the red 2010 Mustang. "Drive" was all Hazan said, and he didn't need to be told twice. It wouldn't be long before Sadiq figured it out, and he wanted to put as many miles between them and the house as possible.

"He seems like a nice boy." Ghada gave a small laugh, like the chiming of bells.

"Of course, I've never known Heracles and Kiku to raise bad children." Sadiq quickly turned livid.

Heracles, that bastard.

* * *

Oh look! I actually _did_ a little research there. Only for the names -shot-

So Ghada in Arabic apparently means "graceful woman." So I thought, hey, why not? Gupta would be a pretty graceful woman. XD

Also, if y'all don't like OC/OC, just tell me. Drop a review, message... carrier pigeon. Hey, whatever floats your boat.


	3. Or Not

_**Il Mio Bambino**_

Peaceful Afternoons Or Not

The sun's golden rays were shining gently through the gossamer curtains that fluttered in the gentle spring breeze. The air was cool, and fragrant with the light and pleasant scents from the garden blooming along the pristine white wall of the cozy little house. Birds twittered gaily and fluttered about, and the trees in the yard – now laden with fruit – swayed gently with the movement of the new families nestled in their boughs. Below these trees ambled along a man around the age of 20, the toned muscles visible through his black sleeveless shirt relaxed as he turned his gaze skyward – the color and disposition readable in his eyes matching those of the serene heavens. On a whim, he picked up an old wicker basket from the base of an apple tree in one strong arm, and with a gentle grasp, plucked a juicy red apple from a branch that was within reach with a work-worn hand. Pausing for a second afterward, he turned his gaze from the fruit-bearing tree to the back porch of the house, where a woman with a slight frame, currently sat, resting, on an oak rocking chair. He picked one more apple from the heavy branch and sidled over to the porch, pulling up a chair to sit beside the woman. In the gentle spring day, she looked most at peace. Olive-complexioned lids closed over honey brown eyes, and one small well-manicured hand was placed tenderly over her protruding abdomen, her chest rising and falling rhythmically as she took her afternoon siesta. The man gently brushed chestnut tresses away from the woman's sleeping visage and placed a gentle kiss on her brow.

Lazy Sunday afternoons such as these were almost unheard of for the 20-year-old man. There was almost always work to be done – paperwork to be filed at the office, meetings to attend, clients to tend to, bosses to answer to, traffic to endure – at home it was no different. There were groceries and clothes and supplies and furniture to be purchased and rooms to be repainted and refurbished and car seats to be installed and cranky women with strange cravings to tend to... in short, while the young blonde man of 20 years had a schedule that he abided to strongly, life had collected into a kind of organized chaos during the past nine months. All nine months of built-up fatigue finally hit him, and with a huge sigh, the blonde slumped over, resting his elbows on the knees of his dark blue denim jeans, eyelids drooping to half conceal his crystalline orbs, a small smile graced his face.

This, he thought before drifting off, was peace.

He wasn't aware of when he had fallen asleep – or that he actually had, in fact, fallen asleep – until he heard a gasp, accompanied by a panicked, earsplitting scream. Jolting awake, he jumped from the chair, turning his gaze immediately to the once sleeping woman. The gentle voice of his wife was twisted into the strained, shaky voice of a woman in pain. "Ludwig," she hissed in pain as her lower muscles contracted again, "Ludwig, the baby's coming." Acting on instinct, he lifted her from the chair and, with as much speed and care as he could manage, carried her into the passenger seat of the car, all the while going over the fastest route to the hospital as he buckled up in the driver's seat and started the car, all the while hoping that everything went smoothly. Feliciana, thinking of nothing but the pain splitting her sides, was not in the least bit calmed by the German man's uncharacteristically gentle tone, nor, in her panic, would she be convinced to regulate her breathing as she was instructed in the birthing classes they had attended. It wasn't until they were half way to the hospital did she calm down enough to breath properly.

"Feli, love, everything will be fine. You are a strong woman. You will be fine." Pained caramel eyes met blue, and for the first time in a long time, the calm, strict blonde felt fearful for his delicate Italian lover. The words he'd spoken to calm her were words that he'd be telling himself over and over throughout the long, arduous 26-hour process.

The auburn-haired woman impatiently paced, as she had been doing for the past week. The doctors had recommended earlier that she walk during the latent labor process, and though her feet throbbed regularly from all the additional weight they were forced to bear, she would walk to the ends of the earth if it would make the process run smoothly. She paced now because she wasn't completely dilated – never in her life did she think that 10 cm would be particularly big for anything, but this changed her perception completely. As much as people told her that childbirth was a miracle, she hardly felt glorious or by any means as if she was a "sacred vessel" or whatever else they claimed she was. She felt bloated, sore, and overall terrible. Just as soon as one contraction's onslaught of pain subsided and dulled, there was another to take its place. She was never more thankful than at that moment for the simple fact that Ludwig was adamant about adhering to guidelines. The warm shower did wonders for the pain, even though she would have just stuck to walking around. Feliciana caught sight of her nervous husband, and might have emulated this fear and worry if not for the massages she was getting at the moment to relieve the pain of the contractions and the tension in her already aching muscles, and in the name of all that's holy did that man know how to give a massage.

Time could not have possibly passed more slowly – or more painfully, for that matter. 23 hours of waiting, repositioning, contractions, worrying, pacing, and the whole time, she was anticipating the arrival of the baby. Entering this phase in labor – she had heard – was one of the most excruciating experiences to go through, especially without the IV drugs or epidural, of which she wanted neither, nor was she on time for either of them. And so, with the slight little spitfire of a doctor instructing her and guiding the baby, and her husband beside her, she pushed through the burning, stretching sensations of birthing for a full 3 hours, almost breaking Ludwig's hand twice with the vice-grip in which she held it for support.

"Almost there. One more time, Feliciana, you can do it." Dr. Park, a dainty woman who looked about 25 with hair the color of rich dark chocolate and almond-shaped eyes of dark brown, coached and coaxed her through the last few contractions, "just one more push. Ready? Push!" Feliciana inhaled sharply for the last of the strained efforts she would have to make to see her little angel, and mustering up the last of her energy, she gave one last push. The baby girl was taken to be cleaned off by the nurse in the room, and the placenta had to be expelled from Feliciana's tired, strained body before they could consider the whole process done.

Ludwig placed a tender kiss to her sweat-soaked forehead, stroking her damp auburn hair, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as the nurse approached the couple with their child in her arms. She gently handed the newborn to his mother and stepped out, leaving the new family to bond. Feli marveled at the delicate, angelic baby girl she held in her arms, and knew that she was in heaven, and she was definitely a precious little treasure.


	4. They Lied

**Whoever Said This Was Easy**

Pale streaks of silver moonlight gently graced the surfaces of the objects in the tiny nursery, hinting at light lilac walls, tracing a pathway from the window to the delicate crib where a newborn babe lay on her back, in sleep looking serene and angelic, tiny, wispy curls gracing her soft head. The faint tinkling sound of the mobile dangling above the bed was the only sound aside from her barely noticeable breathing that could be heard in the room. The dogs lingered outside the door of the infant, curious about the new member of the family and alert to the safety of this new little one.

A sigh of relief escaped the lips of the new mother, contentedly lying on the bed after a long day of dealing with fussiness, colic, spit-ups, and diapers. Glad to have these moments of respite, she closed her tired eyes, and burrowed beneath the blankets, savoring the warmth generated by her husband. She snuggled up to him, and reveled in the momentary peace, drifting off to a calm, blissful sleep...

Sharp wails pierced the calm of the evening. With an internal groan, she sat up and threw her legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed her eyes, ready to pad off to the nursery and tend to the new baby. A large hand grabbed hold of her wrist, though, and gently pulled her back onto the plush mattress. "Feli, go back to bed. I'll go see what Lucia needs." With a sleepy nod, she pulled the covers back over her, and drifted back to sleep.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Ludwig plodded into the nursery and swaddled Lucia in a pale lavender blanket, taking her up into his arms. He spent four hours, most of what little energy he had, two shirts, a bottle, and quarter a tank of gas trying to get Lucia to go back to sleep (the bumpy car ride, they discovered, helped soothe the baby, as she was terribly colicky).

It was now 8 AM, and between the two new parents, the total amount of collective sleep was 8 hours within the past 24-hour period. Feli yawned, trying to banish the sleep from her body so she could cook a proper meal, a task which would prove difficult. She started to wish for the day when Lucia slept through the night, because Feli needed sleep… desperately.

* * *

Author's Note: Derp. Short chapter is short~ The plot bunnies only provided me with so much before it decided to sit on my desktop collecting virtual dust bunnies. I'm starting to run out of steam, guys. That being said, suggestions for pairings would be great!


	5. Are Not As Bad As I Thought

Family Portraits

"Ugh, Vati, this is so NOT awesome." The young child tugged at the frilly. Pink. MONSTROSITY her papa had the audacity to call a d-dr-_dress_. Her indigo eyes glared daggers at the current object of her hatred through her dirty blonde fringe. "How much longer do I have to put up with this?" She whined. "I'm gonna DIE if I stay in this thing any longer, Vati." She slumped down in the chair next to the ash-blonde man, her dainty arms folded tightly across her chest her entire being exuding displeasure with her situation.

The man turned a ruby eye toward the young girl and chuckled at her cross demeanor. He was about to ruffle her hair, but hesitated as his violet-eyed lover shot him a stern glare through wire-framed glasses. Instead of risking death by ruining the meticulously done-up dark blonde curls on his daughter's head, he settled for patting her back as the next best 'comforting' gesture. "It shouldn't be too much longer, mein kind. Be a bit more patient, k?" He kicked himself mentally for being a hypocrite. He was bored out of his mind, and had half a mind to start complaining. He sympathized with the poor girl. He turned back to face the door, almost willing the 'honored guests' to arrive so they could get the damn thing done and over with. Out of the corner of his ruby red eyes, he saw the small child slump back in her seat and huff, blonde fringe floating upwards and slightly out of place with the force of her exhaled breath. Her papa turned his gentle loving gaze toward the small – adorably cross – little angel, and noted her rather obvious discomfort, from the small twitches in her limbs to the way she wiggled in her seat, tugging at her collar as a silent prayer to get out of her uncomfortable costume.

She was 7 years old, and an athlete by nature – also in love with shorts and pants since the age she could pick her own clothes. By all means, it was a miracle that she had sit still with relatively little protest for this long, in a dress, no less. It would be a godsend if she could wait another half hour for everyone to arrive at the studio. 'This must be hell for her' he thought, none to happy at the thought that she was uncomfortable 'but, Papa really wanted us to do this. He was so ecstatic when he talked about it on the phone.' A slight tug at the sleeve of his suit jacket brought him out of his thoughts.

"Papa" the young girl whined, "I'm _bored_. When's pépère gonna get here?" Her indigo eyes glistened. She was unintentionally being cute. Or intentionally, one could never know…

Matthew crouched down to meet her gaze, and chuckled. "Brigette, calm down. Your grand-père will be here soon. He just called and said he'd meet us in 5 minutes. You can wait 5 minutes, right Princess?" He tapped the tip of her nose and her frown melted away. It was impossible for her to stay mad at her papa.

She nodded slowly, looking back up at him with the most innocent indigo eyes. "Yes, papa." She then turned to her vati and shared a mischievous glance with him before bounding to him in her Mary Jane's – in a very unladylike manner – and he lifted her into strong arms… and poked her. She gave him an irritated glare that matched that of the one he'd received from Matthew before poking him back, stealthily, to which he reacted with a (MANLY, DAMMIT) squeak. Before they could start a full out poke war, however, the door opened, the faint smell of tea leaves and old books catching her senses and thus sending a blur of pink-and-gold off Gilbert's lap to fly into the arms of the arms of her grandfather. "GRANDDAD!" She almost tackled down the gentleman at the door in all her enthusiasm.

Playing off as if he'd braced for it, the man spun her around before setting her down on the ground again, patting her head affectionately, choosing not to lecture her about the proper way to greet people at the door. "How's my princess doing today?" Normally calculating emerald eyes softened as he took in the sight of the dainty seven year old in her formal dress and shoes. She truly did look like a princess.

She puffed out her cheeks in irritation. "'m not a princess, Poppy… and I hate wearing this dress." He chuckled softly. There was no way he could take her irritation seriously when she looked for all the world the spitting image of Shirley Temple. "Is pépère here, too?"

And just as she asked, he flamboyantly announced his presence in a booming voice, as only Francis could. "Now, where's _ma petite princesse_?" He swiveled gracefully toward the sound of heels clacking against the tile, and was nearly knocked over by a mass of blonde curls and puffy pink cloth. "Ah", he let out a chuckle, "there you are, Brigette."

"Now if only we can get Alfred to show up with your impeccable timing, Frog." A gentler sort of sarcasm was evident in Arthur's voice.

"Alright, now on three." The man behind the camera began the countdown, "one… two…"

"WAIT!" And, in his typical fashion, the hero was late. Arthur rolled his eyes at the sight, as Alfred tried to rearrange himself to look presentable to SOME degree. Brigette was attempting to suppress a giggle. The photographer shared in Arthur's sentiments. He was none too pleased that his careful arrangement of subjects had to be reorganized become some buffoon decided he was going to ruin it all by coming in at the last bloody minute. After they were all rearranged in a suitable order, he started the countdown again.

Matthew, relieved and content, bore a small smile on his face, reflecting his shy nature. There had been a minimal amount of bickering, and everything worked out just fine. Maybe, just maybe, there was some hope for the future.

As Alfred obliviously insulted Arthur, to which Arthur responded with a – less than gentle – thwack to the head, the hope slowly died. One thing was certain, though. Family portraits were not as bad as he thought.


	6. I Can't Take It Anymore

**Make Them Stop**

"Toris" A high-pitched voice pleadingly whined. "Toris, baby, could you, like, be a doll and get me some kielbasa? I'm hungry."  
The brunette in question groaned, turning on his side. He raised a leaden arm to rub bleary forest green eyes, the red glare from the alarm clock contrasting with the inky darkness to attack his retinas. "It's 2:15 AM. Can't it wait?"  
"Oh, but honey, the baby's hungry." She whined.

He sighed, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and jammed his cold toes into fuzzy warm slippers. "This really couldn't wait 'til morning, could it?" He grumbled as he trudged down the hall, flicking the light on in the kitchen. Rummaging through the fridge, he grabbed the kielbasa and the sauerkraut, and he started to make it. Halfway through making the kielbasa, his phone made a pinging sound, followed by three buzzes, and he groaned. Checking it, he heaved a frustrated sigh. '_nvm babe. I want pierogi. Can u make sum? Luv u :)'_

Digging through the fridge yet again, he found the container with the pierogi from the night before. 'I suppose I can't let the kielbasa go to waste. I'll finish it up and put it in the fridge… just in case.' He put some of the requested food on a plate, was about to put it in the microwave, then remembered , with a shudder, the disaster from two days ago, and then heated it up in a pan. Halfway down the hall, his phone rang again. Flicking it open, he read the text he'd just received. _'… and can u bring sum babka 2? Ur a doll, tnx! 3'_ Sighing, brought the warm food into the room, and set it down on the nightstand on his wife's side of the bed, then plodded down the hall again to retrieve the requested dessert. Just as he pulled the labeled container out of the fridge, his phone rang, indicative of the telltale message. '_jk, luv. Want gelato. Tnx 4 the pierogi~! Where's the kielbasa? :|'_ Groaning, he grabbed up the kielbasa and plodded back to the room to deliver the kielbasa, get dressed, fetch his keys, and go on his quest. If tonight was going to be like every other night since the cravings started, he could expect to not be getting any more sleep tonight.

Addressing the rather distressing damsel, he handed her the kielbasa. She squealed with delight. "OMG, honey, thank you SO MUCH. You're, like, a GOD!" Her face lit up, and she scarfed down the food in almost record time as he dressed and grabbed his car keys.

"I'm going to go out to get your gelato now, honey. What flavor do you want?"

"Oh… um… I want mint, maple, and cookies and cream! You know the place, right?" He winced. There goes his lunch money. "Thank you, dear." She flashed her best saccharine smile, and he returned it in kind before shutting off the light and closing the door, ready to make the journey across town to the only gelato store open at this hour.

The bright light of the little shop was like a beacon in the night – a lone star that shone through the inky dark cloak. The man behind the counter worked tirelessly, wiping down the counter, checking the various pieces of kitchenware – blenders, mixers, coffee-makers and the like – every now and then to make up for the slight downturn of activity in these late-night/early morning hours. His dark amber eyes flitted to the doorway upon hearing the light tinkling of the bells that signaled to him that there was a customer. "Hello and welcome to my humble shop! How may I be of service to you this fine evening?" He greeted with an absurd amount of energy, amber eyes glistening with delight. The brunette that had opened the door was the picture of fatigue. Normally animated forest green eyes were slightly dulled, the delicate skin surrounding them dark and heavy in weariness. "Ah, Toris," a mischievous and knowing smirk spread on his face. "If this keeps up, you'll have Celestina beat as my best customer. So what'll it be today?" He paused, as Toris seemed spaced out.

"Ah, sorry Evandrus," green eyes darted from the cheery shopkeeper to the gelato arranged in neat rows by flavor and color, creating a rainbow of sweets. "I guess it'll be the quart… of maple, mint, and cookies n' cream."

Evandrus chuckled, "Felicja woke you up again? How long have you been up today?"

Toris sighed hugely and practically slumped over the counter. "Too long. Ever try making kielbasa at 2 AM?"

"Ouch. Well, I guess you just have to soldier through it. The cravings will stop soon enough, right?" He tried to put on his best comforting smile. He really pitied the poor man sometimes. "$4.50, please," He collected the money from the weary man, and in exchange gave him the Styrofoam container. "You have a good day now, Toris. Try not to fall asleep at work this time, eh?" He promptly sent him off with a knowing smirk and a wink. Of course, Toris thought, the man had gone through the birth of his sons and grandchildren. It would be silly to think he didn't know.

Toris sighed as he approached the house, plodding up the stairs and slumping against the door before fumbling with the keys. Quietly, he opened the door, and tossed the house keys on the table before trudging down the hall to the room that held a comforting soft bed. Removing his shoes before entering the room, he took a glance around the door. His wife lay slightly curled on her side, sleeping peacefully. He sighed hugely, and turned back to trek to the kitchen.

As he shoved the gelato in the freezer, he noted the angry red glow of the clock on the stove. 5:30 AM. "Great. Time to get ready for work." He really would be thankful when these cravings ended. His sanity wouldn't be able to hold on much longer.


End file.
